the lightning strike
by shadowinthedark13
Summary: Soul Evans doesn't need a family. Soul/Maka, one-shot. REUPLOADED. Rated M for swearing.


**Title: **the lightning strike

**Rating/Warnings: **T

**Word Count: **1,964

**Character(s):** Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn, Wes Evans

**Pairing(s):** Soul/Maka

**Summary:** Soul doesn't need a family, fuck you.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Notes: **This has been in my documents for a little over a month and I decided I might as well finish it one of these days. This is my first time writing in Soul's POV, so if I'm doing something wrong, please tell me :3

**This has been reuploaded, I haven't changed anything. Ffnet deleted it probably because of the swearing in the summary.**

* * *

**i.**

Mom says between unhappy glances and finger twirls, "You should at least _try,"_ Soul decides trying isn't worth it in this family.

* * *

**ii.**

He's thirteen when he sneezes and slices a hole in the table. The blade is sleek and red with black zigzags and while Soul thinks it's cool, his mother and father don't.

Wes tells him later that night while Soul brushes his teeth that _wow_ that's amazing and _wow_ I wish I could do something like that and Soul tries to ignore him.

* * *

**iii.**

When Soul decides to leave, there isn't a big revelation, it doesn't keep him up at night or make his stomach churn. He just decides to leave, packing clothes away into a duffle bag. Even if he had changed those few days before he left, it's not like anyone besides Wes would notice.

And when they do find out he's leaving, heading to Nevada, they don't really care. Mom says, "If that's _really_ what you want Soul," and dad scowls and Wes has a sad, pitying look in his eyes. This might not be what he wants, but he needs to be better at something. If it can't be music, it'll be this. He can beat Wes at _this._

Soul decides as he leaves, stepping out of the car and toward the airport with only a goodbye from his brother, that he doesn't need a family.

(_fuck you, fuck you, fuck you)_

* * *

**iv.**

He doesn't hear the girl scrape her chair into the middle of the room. Doesn't hear her sighs or see her smile. Soul sees an audience that doesn't understand, hears annoyed sighs and words that whisper _just play it like it's supposed to be played_.

Her clapping makes him flinch and scowl, twisting on the piano bench. She's smiling and clapping and wearing a ridiculous outfit, but hell so is he.

The girl stands, pigtails dancing with her movements. She looks young, immature, inexperienced, but she's a meister and oh, yeah, he's looking for one of those. _Maka_ is her name and she calls his music beautiful.

_This is who I am_ is all he can say and she laughs and extends a hand, saying nothing.

Soul thinks if he can't have a family he might as well have a friend.

* * *

**v.**

Maka is infuriating and a nerd and flat-chested and a whole buncha' mean adjectives, but she's also amazing and smart and his best friend, so he can't really complain (although he does).

He doesn't mind when she slips into his bed after a particularly gruesome nightmare, or when she drapes her long, skinny and bruised legs across his lap while they watch TV. Soul's used to her after a few months of awkward dinners and angry fights.

* * *

**vi.**

"It's protocol," Medusa says with a small, worried smile. "I have to inform your guardians that you were injured."

Soul knows Maka is on the other side of the door, listening in to the conversation, debating on whether or not she should come inside. When she doesn't step through the door, he's happy, because having her here while trying to talk about his family would be difficult.

"S'not like they'll care," he shrugs, turning away from the nurse. His chest aches a bit, the pain killers she'd given him only dulling the pain, not stopping it completely. "It would be a waste of time, if you ask me."

Medusa gives him a long, measured look. The same kind of look Stein has sometimes. Soul would be frightened if being scared were cool, but it isn't so he ignores her in favor of glaring at Maka through the door.

"Well alright then," she murmurs and stands, tucking her clipboard away.

* * *

**vii.**

It isn't a surprise when Maka kisses him one night, a few years later. He'd been expecting it, planning to do it himself, and okay so maybe it is a little bit of a surprise but it's a nice one. One he happily returns over and over and over again.

* * *

**viii.**

He's seventeen when he gets a letter in the mail, inviting him and one guest to the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Wes Evans. Soul scoffs at the letter and tosses it aside, forgetting momentarily that he's got a nosy roommate.

Maka finds the letter later, flopping down onto his bed. Soul opens the eye that isn't buried against his pillow and watches her read off the invitation. She furrows her brows and hesitates at the bottom, reading the words his brother had written him, asking him to attend, to be happy for him, as if it's that easy. Soul tried for thirteen years to be happy for Wes.

The meister and weapon don't speak for several long moments, and Soul wonders if she'll make him go. It's only when Maka rests the invitation on the desk beside his bed, laying her head down beside his that she's letting him choose what to do next. And he thinks he loves her for that.

"I dunno if I wanna go," he murmurs, her questions left unspoken and hanging in the air. He presses his face into his pillow and tries to ignore Maka's warmth. "…haven't even talked to him in years…"

"It's up to you, Soul," her breath flutters against his neck, and Soul pulls her to him, crushing his lips against hers.

* * *

**ix.**

He really loves her and he wonders if Wes would be jealous that he's got such an amazing, wonderful girlfriend.

Soul hates the answer because no, Wes probably would not be jealous. Not even a little.

* * *

**x.**

They do decide to go, eventually, almost three weeks before the wedding and nearly a month after the RSVP date. Soul doesn't really give a fuck that he's making things difficult. They're lucky he's going, really, because he hadn't really wanted to. But it's not like Wes ever really did anything to Soul _personally._ It was mostly Soul's stupid fucking inferiority complex and the fact that his parent's sucked.

Soul glances at himself in the mirror of their hotel room. Seven floors below them, Wes and his bride are preparing for their wedding, and his parents are probably stressing Wes out. But it's a nice hotel, and the bathroom is huge, and nobody said anything about him and Maka rooming together, although they'd gotten looks of disapproval at the rehearsal dinner the night before. Mostly from his mother. Not that he gave a shit, unlike Maka, who had been a nervous wreck the entire night.

He straightens his tie quickly, giving himself another once over in the mirror. He'd worn his Black Room suit for the wedding because Maka had asked him to (_"Soul I have the prettiest dress to go with it, okay. You have to.")_ And he did have to admit it was his favorite. Plus he looked pretty fucking cool in it.

A glance at his phone tells him that the wedding will start in a half hour and that they should probably start heading down there. He exits the bathroom, shutting the lights off quickly, and glances at his meister, who is only now pulling her red dress on, up over her breasts and the strapless bra Soul told her not to wear because it was hard to get off. He catches a glance of frilly red lace and smirks, remembering the way she'd bitched about underwear lines and having to go shopping with Blair.

He moves quickly, catching her eye in the mirror as he stands behind her, tugging the zipper up her back, taking his time. She carefully pulls the strap around her neck, careful of her styled hair. "Thanks, Soul."

"Mhm," he murmurs, quirking a smile at her in the mirror. "You look great, Maka."

She smirks, shrugging a shoulder and turning around, his hands relocating from her shoulders to her hips. "Well one of has to, right?"

Soul snorts, knocking their foreheads together. "Right."

Maka watches him carefully with those big green eyes, and Soul is happy that she didn't put a lot of make-up on. She looks better than _great_ but calling her beautiful…

"How're you doing?" She whispers, not looking away from him. Her hands pet his shirt, straightening imaginary wrinkles and running along his scar. He shivers under her touch.

"I'm awesome."

"We can leave early tonight—if you don't want to stay, I mean."

Soul really, really loves her.

* * *

**xi.**

"She's incredible."

Soul stares at his brother, almost choking on the champagne he's drinking. His eyes follow Wes' gaze to where Maka and his brother's bride are talking animatedly, Maka mimicking the way she twirls Soul around.

"I talked to her, you know. When she called the RSVP and at the dinner last night. I guess you're doing well, huh little brother? Not that I'm surprised. I knew you'd do—"

"You don't have to do that," Soul snaps, glaring at his glass. "I don't need you to tell me how amazing my accomplishments are. You can keep your compliments to yourself."

Wes smirks, letting out a laugh that surprises Soul. "Alright, I won't. Just…do me a favor, Soul?"

"What is it?" He's dreading the next words that come out of his brother's mouth. If it has anything to do with his parents, it'll be a no.

Wes is still staring at Maka, but it's like he's seeing through her. Seeing the pretty blue soul she has. But that's ridiculous. "Don't let her go, brother. That's something you only find once, y'know."

Soul stares at his brother for a moment, before directing his gaze at Maka. She seems to notice, because she turns his way, quirking a brow at him. He gives her a smile, raising his glass. "Have you found it yet, Wes?"

"Yes," he answers without hesitation, and Soul can see the glow Wes has, and he doesn't have to be a meister to see the way Wes and his bride's souls connect.

* * *

**xii.**

"That wasn't so bad," Maka murmurs against Soul's neck. His hands are clammy where they clutch her legs and her breath is too warm. "…was fun, kinda."

"Happy you thought so," Soul mutters, running his thumb along her knee. She giggles, and Soul vows to never let her near alcohol again. "Are you tired?"

Hands slip down from his shoulders, tugging his shirt free from his black slacks. His suit coat, the one hanging off her tiny frame, nearly hides her hands from sight. Soul snorts, turning to glance at her. They're almost at their room, Soul thinks. Out loud, he says, "I'm not really tired either, babe."

Maka laughs and Soul walks faster.

* * *

**xiii.**

He doesn't have to tell her how much he cares for her, he thinks. Because that's the good thing about Maka. She can read between the lines, catch his lies before they've even started and understand the things he can't say aloud. She understands that he can't let people in any more than she can. Because of his past, the way he's been treated. She understands and she still loves him and that, Soul thinks, is why he loves her.

She knows without having to be told.

* * *

**xiv.**

"I love you," he says anyway, one night while they're eating dinner on the couch, one of his hands shoveling food into his mouth while his other combs through her hair. He says it like one might say, "We've got mail," or "do the laundry". But Maka can hear the fear and nervousness behind the words.

"Yeah, I love you too, Soul," she grins, eyes brightening and heart beating wild in fast against her ribs.

Soul doesn't need to be an Evans to have a family, or to be proud of himself. He's got Maka and his friends and yeah, that's definitely enough.


End file.
